


Making Sense of the Numbers

by zinke



Series: What We Didn't See [11]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-23
Updated: 2007-07-23
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9309503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinke/pseuds/zinke
Summary: "Who they want, or what they want. Voters must be lying about one or the other. Which do you think it is?"





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, it’s been a while; sorry about that. Life has been a bit hectic lately, and unfortunately the writing had to be put aside for a bit until things got back under control. Hopefully there are still a few people out there reading this series despite the unexpected hiatus; drop a comment or send feedback to let me know you’re still out there! If you need a quick refresher course, you can check out earlier installments here.
> 
> Thanks as always to caz963, whose expert wielding of the 2x4 helped shake loose my own polling number obsession – on more than one occasion – during the course of writing this piece. God knows I needed it – though it may take a day or two for the bruises to fade! *g*

* * * *

"Something's been wrong with these numbers all day. In Vermont, voters swear that they would vote for a Latino President, but the state is splitting 49/49 for Santos and Vinick."

"We ran a Latino Democrat against a tax-cutting, moderate Republican. There's—"

"And Maine has been trending Santos all day but voters are listing security and taxes as their major issues so...what are they lying about? What they care about? Or who they're voting for? We're even playing in Louisiana! Teddy and Lou went through the roof, but look at the exit polls...the data is skewed towards women and African Americans. White men cast their votes after work... what happens then? We don't have this wrapped up."

* * * *

Donna huffed out an exasperated breath just as Lou stopped beside them.

"Josh, I need you presentable for network spin in five minutes."

"Donna can do it," he argued distractedly, as he resumed leafing through the haphazard pages of data that were clutched in his hand. 

“Bruno’s spent the last half-hour on MSNBC and Fox News talking up Vinick’s exit-poll numbers. It needs to be you.” 

Josh appeared not to hear her, his eyes never leaving the pages in front of him as he muttered agitatedly, "What the hell is going on in South Carolina?"

Lou turned to give Donna a withering look. "Just do something with him, will you? I need him in front of a camera ASAP," she insisted before turning away.

Donna took a moment to watch Josh as he continued his futile study, seemingly oblivious to both Lou's frustration and her own concern about his tumultuous state of mind. Reaching out, she pulled gently at his shoulder in an effort to capture his attention. "C'mon, Josh. There’s no way I’m letting you go on TV with your hair looking like that.”

Josh’s head snapped up abruptly, all thoughts of exit-polls forgotten. “What’s wrong with my hair?” 

Donna merely shot him a sardonic look before turning to weave her way towards the door. Predictably, Josh rose and trotted after her, still complaining as they made their way through the doorway and down the hall. “My hair always looks like this!” he exclaimed stridently a minute later as together they rounded the corner and arrived at his room. 

Donna held out her hand, palm-up, and waited for him to pull his key card from his pocket and hand it to her. "Josh, right now your hair is the least of your problems. You'd better have a fresh jacket and tie in here." Unlocking the door, she turned to hand him back the key, taking note of the dark circles under his eyes that had been hidden earlier in the muted light of the campaign’s war room. "And you're going to need something to get rid of those bags under your eyes."

"Excuse me?" he squeaked as he followed her obediently through the doorway. "Are you suggesting that I—" he stopped short as his eyes fell on the bed, it’s sheets still tellingly mused from earlier. 

Oblivious, Donna sent a glib response over her shoulder as she pulled open his closet door and began to rifle through the hangers for his jacket and a suitable tie. “Josh, we need you to at least look like you haven’t spent the past three months mainlining Red Bull and pulling repeated all-nighters. The only way that's going to happen is with make-up, so get over it.”

When he didn't answer, she poked her head back around the closet door. "Josh?" Stepping back, jacket and tie in hand, she followed his gaze and felt her pulse jump as she realized what had caught his attention. 

She’d been so preoccupied with distracting Josh that she’d been able to ignore their surroundings. But in the heavy silence that now hung between them, her senses were assaulted by everything at once: the rumpled chaos of sheets on the bed, the half-drunk glass of water sitting atop the bedside table, the unfamiliar yet unmistakable scent of them that lingered in the air. Her practiced bravado evaporated instantly, and she bit her lip apprehensively while hazarding a surreptitious glance in his direction. 

“Who they want or what they want. Voters must be lying about either one or the other,” he murmured softly, eyes still trained on the bed as he fingered the edges of the pages in his hand. “Which do you think it is?”

“I don’t know.”

Finally, he raised his eyes to meet hers, his gaze desperate and piercing. "Why would they lie about something this important?" 

Donna knew – had known since the first round of numbers had come out, really – that his obsession with the exit-poll responses had little to do with the numbers themselves. Josh wanted assurances that the grueling months he’d dedicated to this campaign would mean something, and now stripped of his ability to try and control the outcome, his doubts had taken hold and were threatening to get the better of him. 

Despite that, she couldn’t help but wonder if, beneath his obsession with skewed numbers and polling inaccuracies, Josh was searching for assurances about other, wholly unrelated concerns.

She was ashamed to admit it, but after waking up in his bed that morning she’d panicked; the thought of leaving unnoticed had crossed her mind more than once as she’d pulled on her hastily collected clothes. Josh’s unexpected appearance at the bathroom doorway hadn’t helped matters; she’d suddenly felt naked and exposed, and had instinctually responded by going on the defensive, rebuffing what she’d later been able to recognize as several endearing attempts to reassure her and draw her in and steering them instead back to safer, more professional ground. 

It had been too much too soon, and she’d needed to get away from it – away from him – if only to give herself a chance to breathe and figure out what the hell was supposed to happen next.

And, somewhere between the hotel dining room and the return elevator ride, twin coffee cups in hand, she had. She’d returned with every intention of telling him…well, she would have come up with something if she’d have been given the chance. But by the time she’d arrived back at his door, the room had been abuzz with people and activity, and her opportunity had passed.

But later, when presented with another chance, she’d grabbed hold of it with both hands. And as they lay together in Josh’s bed for the second time that day, it hadn’t occurred to her to feel awkward or embarrassed – it had felt natural, comfortable, the way she’d always thought it would feel if they’d ever— 

No. Right now, on what could be the biggest day of his professional life, they both needed to stay focused – whatever was happening between them could wait a few hours longer. Raising his suit jacket to chest level she waved it at him, desperately hoping to redirect them both back to the task at hand. "Josh, you really need to put this on—"

"Which is it, Donna?" 

Closing her eyes in resignation, she flopped down onto the edge of the bed and huffed softly. "Why does it have to be either one?" 

"Because it does."

"It really doesn't.”

“This campaign has been going on for months now, has spent millions of dollars and made God knows how many trips across this country in an effort to get our message across. Today’s Election Day. You’d think they’d have this figured out by now.”

“Well, Josh, not everyone possesses your level of conviction, be it misguided or otherwise.”

“My convictions have always been perfectly guided,” he sniffed defensively.

“You’ve known since San Andreo that this was going to be a tight election; Vinick’s a moderate Republican, not some right-wing conservative like Representative Mitchell who—“ 

“That wacko wouldn’t have made it past the New Hampshire primary.”

“Which is my point, Josh: the voters know what they want to see happen in this country after the election, but this time there’s a finer distinction to be made.”

“Well yeah, because this time neither guy’s an idiot from Florida whose response to questions about the recent rise in gun-related crimes is ‘gee whiz’.”

“Again, I thank you for proving my point for me. Now put this on,” she said as she stood and held out his suit jacket once more, “and go convince those misguided CNN viewers that Santos is their man by sharing some of those infallible convictions of yours.”

Josh finally acquiesced, and turned to slip his arms into the sleeves. “Do you know what you want?” he asked solemnly as he shrugged into the garment. “After the election, I mean?”

Donna smoothed her hands across his shoulders and down his arms in a gentle caress as she considered his question, trying to discern what it was he was really asking. Still uncertain, she finally responded softly, “I’ve known for a while now, Josh. Why else would I be here?” He turned to face her then, a tentative hope shining in his eyes as he parted his lips to respond. Shaking her head quickly to silence him, she offered a small smile before nudging him forward, out the door and back down the hallway. “Later. Right now, you’ve got undecided voters to convince and I’ve got… well, something to do I’m sure.”

Stopping outside the television interview room, Josh took a moment to stare inside at the riot of red, white and blue flags lined up against the far wall before turning again to face her. “You should head down to the ballroom and catch some of the show,” he offered, suddenly looking uncharacteristically self-conscious. “There was this band earlier that was pretty good. Stupid name, though.”

“I’m guessing Lou’s going to need me up here for a while, but thanks for the tip.” 

Josh gave her a sheepish grin as he met and held her gaze. Noticing the increased activity in the room behind them as they prepared to go live, Donna reluctantly stepped back, giving him a gentle shove towards the waiting cameras. “Do good.”

A moment later, gripping the doorjamb for balance, Donna leaned into the room and called out to one of the assistants bustling around the room. “Oh, and Jeannie? He’s not allowed to say one word to Wolf Blitzer until he’s let you put some make-up on him. He looks like death warmed over – hardly the reassuring image we’re aiming for right now. Isn’t that right, Josh?” 

The all-too-familiar grumble she got in response was music to her ears.

 

*fin.*


End file.
